Disclaimer: I do now own Venom

Edit: 14.10.21

Chapter 8: The Prey

If something was for certain, it was that she was beyond late for her shift by now. Several hours and several examinations later, Evelyn had yet to return home, although she doubted that could easily be done even if she was granted the time. With the prospect of a gun being held to her forehead, she thought killing her would be no difficult act at all, albeit slightly problematic on their part. If Mr. Drake really wished to keep her within the project's protocol, compromises would have to be established. Evelyn knew from experience that arrangements made it easier to keep someone in line than force did.

The majority of the test subjects had all perished in the experiments, but few had surprisingly managed to endure the contact and remained stable in confinement. However, none of them showed signs of being completely functioning.

By now, the yellow and the blue symbiotes had both managed to stabilize themselves within two hosts; Harry Beckley; Caucasian; thirty-six years; methamphetamine addict. And Jacob Markson; African-American; forty-one years; type-two diabetic. Respectively.

They had both been contained in separate cells and were now being kept under constant surveillance. It was a miracle; both a scientific and a medical one. Evelyn could hardly express her astonishment or disdain as she watched the process with successful results. However, none were are prideful as Mr. Drake in that sense.

All that remained now was to find a stable host for the mercury-colored symbiote, the most docile one she had observed thus far. Upon close inspection of it, she discovered that it had a tendency to find loud noises unbearable. Actually, all of them were unable to stand them. She had become informed of this beforehand by the researchers, yet it produced more questions than answers. As she kneeled in front of the black symbiote outside the containment, there was one noticeable attribute that did not escape her.

Desperation.

"Name?"

"M-Maria Nordstrom."

"Age?"

"Thirty-eight."

The woman was a nobody and homeless, making her the ideal candidate for this sort of scheme. Someone who wouldn't be missed by anyone and someone who could easily disappear from the face of the earth with little to no alarm. Evelyn scrutinized the woman's appearance as she wrote down the answers she received. Heavy bags under her eyes (sleep deprivation? Drug addiction? Alcohol withdrawal), uncut and dirtied nails, frail and trembling fingers (lack of proper sustenance? Anemic?).

As she followed the same examination with the woman as she had with the other volunteers, Evelyn came to notice several cuts that went across the woman's wrists. Her initial thoughts were mental disorders or problems regarding depression, but then she noticed that those scars were not deliberate; they were not precise enough, nor exact to be self-inflicted. She had seen numerous of patients with scars on their wrists, both old and recent, but these were not of the same kind.

But she did not press the issue further; it wasn't something that involved her, nor interfered with the examination. As long as the woman was currently in a stable condition, that was all that mattered.

While she was finishing the remainder of the file, Evelyn's eyes flickered up and she noticed that the woman was looking alarmed about something. Ms. Nordstrom's eyes consistently wavered over to the exit of the examination room, as if she was expecting someone to enter through it.

"Nobody will arrive," Evelyn said with the intent of decreasing her worry. It would not bode well if Ms. Nordstrom was anxious during the exam, as it could interfere with the results. "I will inform the guards once we are finished."

"I know," Ms. Nordstrom squeaked, not looking away from the door. "I was just wondering if my ex-husband was standing outside the door."

"Only the personnel are allowed inside," Evelyn informed her, casting a glance over at the door. As anticipated, there stood no one there, not even the silhouette of Dr. Skirth was visible through the disoriented glass. It was at that point that she began to question Ms. Nordstrom's mental capabilities (paranoiac? schizophrenic? Obsessive Compulsion Disorder). Although she knew little of the psychological spectrum, it had been one of the subjects she had read about at John Hopkins' while studying. Considering how little it interested her back then and now, she knew only of the basic symptoms.

All of which Ms. Nordstrom was currently displaying.

"Maybe he has decided to take me back?" Ms. Nordstrom said, a hopeful gaze in her eyes that struck Evelyn as unfathomable. "Maybe he will let me see Lily again?"

"I can say with certainty that your ex-husband is not here," Evelyn responded calmly, getting up to her feet with the notepad tucked under her arm. "Let us proceed."

"Where are we going?" Ms. Nordstrom asked as she jumped down from the seat, eager to get out of there. "Am I going to get paid now?"

"You're not." Evelyn answered curtly.

Ms. Nordstrom did a double-take, eyes wide in disbelief as her mind processed these words. "They said I would get paid for this."

"You will," the doctor answered, but not before casting a look up at the woman with a distinctive sharp angle. "If you survive the procedure."

Silence rang as her words slipped her tongue, making Evelyn acknowledge her mistake at once. Her pen abruptly stopped on the paper, making the dot she just created resemble more of a comma than anything, and she silently held her breath and awaited the consequence of her actions.

It came in the form of a significantly paled woman, who seemed as though she had just been told that she had less than a few hours left to live. Evelyn knew this because she had undergone the procedure numerous times, and few occasions proved themselves differentiated from the common ones; pure fear, pale faces, and denial. What happened next, however, was not amongst one of the most anticipated reactions.

"'If I survive'?" The woman asked, voice quivering and fingers curling. "W-What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that the procedure you signed up for is a potentially fatal one," the doctor informed her callously. "They did not inform you because they feared that you would refrain from signing the papers if you knew the truth behind their experiments." Lies, honesty, there were truly no differences between the two; 'two sides of a single coin', as she had heard before. What might prove entertaining for her would undoubtedly become inconvenient for the Foundation, though amusement was not her aim at the moment.

But as Evelyn got up to her feet and prepared to reach for the door, a pair of feeble hands grasped the front of her coat and held her in place. Ms. Nordstrom was staring straight at her with blank, hollow eyes that were filled with what could only be concluded as fear.

"W-W-What is it I'm meant to do?" she asked, voice contorting between demanding and in severe hysteria. "S-Something I might not survive?" As each word progressed from her lips, the grip around Evelyn tightened. It may not have been much for a malnourished and sleep-deprived woman like Ms. Nordstrom, but it was regardless persistent.

Evelyn wrapped her hands around the woman's wrists. "Ma'am, I will have to ask you to let go of me."

"No! Tell me what this is about first!"

This was not the first time a patient of hers had gotten physical, and she doubted it would be the last. At one point, the husband of a woman who had been diagnosed with incurable breast cancer had practically slammed Evelyn in the wall and demanded that she do something about it. Security had been called and eventually handled the situation, but not before the husband had efficiently managed to inflict her with several abrasion; one which left a lingering cut on the edge of her right eyebrow. If she looked in the mirror, Evelyn could still spot the scar there, albeit faintly. A few stitches were acquired, but nothing significant.

Fortunately, on her part, Ms. Nordstrom did not possess even half the necessary strength in order to inflict lingering injuries upon the doctor's physicality. Even so, she remained persistent in her goal to achieve the answer she was searching for, and a part of Evelyn saluted her determination.

"The experiment may cost you your life," Evelyn said after a moment of deliberate silence, taking note of the paleness that was increasing upon the woman's features. "You will be exposed to an extraterrestrial lifeform that can either improve your physique or drain you of life."

It did not strike her as a difficult predicament to tell Ms. Nordstrom the truth, though she carefully weighed the potential consequences of her surprisingly reckless actions. She had not provided the same privileges to the other patients who participated in the experiment, but she decided that now was not the time for sentiment (or lack thereof). So many had already been deemed deceased from the procedures, and she had been there to watch them die.

Seven people. Seven people had been killed, and all of them had looked her straight in the eyes from the cells they had been as they were exposed to the symbiotes. All of them begged her, pleaded of her to let them out of there, but Evelyn knew that any act of transgression would most likely result with a bullet between her eyes.

Therefore, she had withheld her reactions, which was something neither Mr. Drake nor Dr. Skirth seemed capable of, as well as few of the other researchers as well. There had been an amalgamation of shock, surprise, disgust, and fascination with the rest of the scientists (if she had managed to successfully read them), but none proved themselves willing to give up their occupations for the sake of human compassion.

Compassion was a concept she made sure would not interfere with work, no matter the circumstances. Evelyn had lost count over how many times her colleagues would cast her revolted glares whenever they witnessed her act of stone-cold professionalism in the face of sentiment. If a mother cried for the loss of her child, she could not offer her consoles in the ways they expected from her. All she could provide was the truth or nothing at all; there were no in-betweens. She was not above being deceitful either if the circumstances called for it, but these circumstances were different.

As the news spewed out of her mouth with such a direct approach, Ms. Nordstrom's mouth twisted and her grip around the doctor's coat tightened to an unimaginable point. It surprised even Evelyn that she was capable of such vigorousness.

Ms. Nordstrom began to shake her, pushing her back and forth to where Evelyn felt like she was on the verge of losing her balance for a second.

"Extraterrestrial? Y-You mean a-aliens?" Ms. Nordstrom uttered meekly, yet her grip never ceased. Her fingers were trembling, either due to the pressure or the terror that was scourging through her nerves, her eyes were dilated, and her breathing was increasing as though she was experiencing a mental breakdown (sweaty palms. unstable nerves. paleness.)

Evelyn nodded solemnly. "Yes, if you would prefer that term."

Then almost at once, Ms. Nordstrom was unable to contain her fear any longer. With as much strength as she could muster, she pulled at Evelyn's coat and harshly pulled her to the side, threatening to throw her to the floor had the doctor been unable to regain her stance in time. She quickly got to her feet again turned around, watching the patient begin to throw everything around her to the floor like she was having a manic episode.

"I don't want to die!" she let out a hollering shriek as she flipped the mattress on the bed over and started to tear open the pillows, allowing the feathers to scatter around. "I WANT TO SEE MY DAUGHTER AGAIN! I WANT LILY!" There was no use arguing with her at that point. It was clear that the patient was emotionally unstable, but whether drugs or medication was a contributing factor remained uncertain.

Evelyn readjusted the collar of her coat before she attempted to say something, but did not get far before the doors slammed open and Treece stepped inside, gun at his disposal along with two guards besides that was doubtlessly any less experienced than him when it came to containing people who were to their inconvenience.

"Dr. March," he greeted her factiously with a smirk as his eyes trailed over to the frantic Ms. Nordstrom. "I see that the examination is going well."

Evelyn had to physically bite her tongue in order to keep a frown from surfacing. However, she successfully managed to keep any internal thoughts from becoming vocal and she stuffed her notepad under her arm. At this point, Ms. Nordstrom had curled in a fetus-position on the floor with the feathers of her ripped pillows scattered around her. She was murmuring things that made no sense, completely despondent.

"She's unfit for the experiment," The doctor said with a rather curt nod to Ms. Nordstrom's way. "I recommend sending her back."

If this was her attempt at committing something "nice" for once, as Dr. Lewis liked to call it, Evelyn concluded with certainty that it was far from the ideal way for her to do it. Numerous people had already been killed right in front of her, yet she was deciding to spare an old homeless woman for no reason other than to feel better about herself. It felt ... pitiful, considering the situation, but a part of her being felt relief scourge through her at the prospect of sparing at least one person from the almost inevitable fate of death.

But the look Treece sent her way verified that it was least likely to happen. He shook his head in patronizing manners, making obnoxious tsk tsk sounds as he did so, then carefully took a step in Evelyn's direction. The room was not large in hindsight so that one step he took to put him a significant few inches closer towards her. In fact, he was already towering over her with a lecherous glee in his eyes.

"Sorry, Doc." He said and reached his hand forth, pulling a few strands of her dark hair between his thumb and index finger. The feeling of him standing so close was nauseous on a medical level, even though she would never admit that aloud. "But Mr. Drake says that's not an option. Once a volunteer signs the contract, they're pretty much obligated to remain."

Evelyn wanted to scoff, but kept herself in check. Right now was not the time to become aggressive, which was a trait she seldom encouraged. "I'm currently under the impression that they are unaware of what they sign under, Treece," she informed him, fingers unconsciously tightening around the fabric of her coat for each time she felt him gently tug at her hair strands. Physical contact, if it could be deemed as such, was something she refrained from engaging unless she could avoid it, much less with someone like Treece.

He scoffed at her words as though they were trivial, which they undoubtedly were from his perspective. His eyes trailed over to Ms. Nordstrom again and his expressions didn't change a bit. However, as he flicked his fingers to the guards, their objective had become clear. The guards nodded affirmatively and marched over to the curled-up lady on the floor, grabbing one arm each and harshly lifting her off the floor. There came a wide variety of curses from her as they lackadaisically escorted her out of the room, and Evelyn could only watch as the scene unfolded in front of her until they disappeared out the door.

Treece then turned his focus back onto her again, teeth displayed through a crooked grin. "A pretty girl such as you should know that Mr. Drake is a hardworking person, Doc. He doesn't let much get in the way of his business, much less the wailing of an old hag." As he said this, the hand that had been holding strands of her hair trailed to her shoulder and down her arm. "Surely you know that what you signed up for when–"

"I did not sign any papers on my way here, Treece," the doctor told him, apparently indifferent towards his touching though she wanted nothing more than to force him to let go. "I imagined that the procedure would not last this long and that I would be able to return in time for my shift. Unfortunately," her eyes glared up at him as the last word rolled off her tongue, and a vague hint of fear overcame the security guard's features as his mind processed that look she gave him. "That seems not to be the case now."

The look of shock on the security guard's face was unmistakable, along with irritation, bitterness, and the temptation to somehow retaliate. But Evelyn held her ground without struggle and without looking away from him, finding an odd satisfaction within her upon watching him twist between the alternatives of striking her or keeping his equanimity.

He ultimately chose the latter, but not without reluctance being present.

"Listen here, Doc," he growled bitterly. "Mr. Drake might have a soft spot for you, but don't think that I'll let you walk all high and mighty around the place. It would be really easy for your death to look like an accident, with those freaks behind the glass. Maybe one of them was accidentally let out or somehow escaped while you were close by. That'd be possible, wouldn't it?"

This caused Evelyn to merely raise an eyebrow. Death-threats were such tedious commitments that it was surprising that she did verbalize her apathy towards him. Patients had made similar threats in the past if she refused (or was unable) to somehow rid them of their afflictions, but this was different. This man was neither a patient nor someone of concern for her, but she was well aware of the gun that was strapped to the side of his pants.

"I would not be concerned about that, Mr. Treece," She contradicted him with a shrug. "Mr. Drake is sure to keep them well-contained enough, so letting them loose with no designated host would surely cause them to perish. It would be problematic if that was to occur by your hands."

Treece did not seem affected by this. "And who do you think he will believe the most?" he asked. "His trusted Head of Security or a doctor with ambiguous morals?"

"Whichever is the most truthful, I would assume," Unbeknownst to her, a smirk grew on her lips. "And someone who knows what measures to take in order to survive. Letting out an extraterrestrial lifeform does not seem to fit into that category, so I imagine that would say more about you than it would about me."

It was easy to see that anger was radiating from him, even though he tried to mask it with a smirk. People were easy to read, even when they thought they weren't. As he opened his mouth to say something, the sound of the door being opened caught both of their attention and kept things from escalating beyond a verbal point. Evelyn took the opportunity to take a step to the side, allowing the distance between her and the security guard to grow.

Dr. Skirth stepped inside. "We are beginning the procedure shortly. Mr. Drake requires your presence, Dr. March."

Evelyn nodded. "I'll be there."

As Dr. Skirth left and Evelyn prepared to leave as well with the notepad tightly in her grip, she felt something grip her arm just as she reached for the door handle.

"I'd be careful if I were you, doc," Treece said slowly, his eyes fixated on her. "It will only be a matter of time before Mr. Drake deems you expendable as well."

His words would have made anyone feel chills run up and down their spines, but Evelyn did not. Instead, she merely offered the security guard a ghost of a side-glance.

"Everyone is expendable, Mr. Treece."